The Siren & the Ghost
by Arelya-Andaria
Summary: Poto AU - Christine is a Sea Witch, a Siren fearing her powers and having stopped singing. Erik is a ghost, locked in a mirror for many, many years. They meet, and she tries to free him. Written for Tumblr poto 13 nights of Halloween event, by a-partofthenarrative.


_Written for 13 nights of Halloween 2019 event on tumblr for a-partofthenarrative. I hope you enjoy this little Siren/Ghost AU :)_

* * *

She has always been gifted with powers. Witch is in her blood. Ever since she was born, her song had given her powers enough to defy the world. But she was content to brood on her shore.

October, and the sky is grey and the sea is grey and as moody as she feels. Seagulls crying overhead, waves crashing and splashing and the misty air filling her lungs. This time she has no wish to play with the ocean as she used to when she was young, playfully guiding the water with her voice, spraying innocent bystanders. Her father used to scold her for that.

Now he won't anymore. The sea, source of her powers and love of her life, had claimed him to her depths. Her voice is gone, the bummer of her existence. The source of so many horrible things.

She's walking along the beach, bare feet numb to the cold and wet sand, and the wind tangles her hair, tugs at her long dress. She loves that feeling, salty air in her nose, freedom in the expanse of water up until the horizon. And power, still whispering in her veins, all around her, every waterdrop a soul-caressing invitation.

_Why did you forsake us? We are not your enemy,_ they endlessly probe her.

But she has sworn: _never. again_.

* * *

He's a ghost, in a mirror. He's traveled around endlessly, for years, _centuries_, even, going from one reflective surface to the next. What he hopes to find, now, he's not sure. But every year, he's given a chance to roam again the earth freely. On each October the 31st, where the veil between the worlds is thinnest, he can leave his glassy prison, for twenty-four hours. A full day as a man again.

And now, he's not sure where he is. A young woman's hand mirror. It's been a long time since he was in one of those.

Listening, as he always does, silent, as he wished he wasn't. A ghost, much like he used to be in his other life. How long ago? He can't tell.

She lives near the sea, he knows. He hears it constantly. How the waves beat against the surf, how they crash and regroup and attack again, never fading, never stopping. Very much like him. He hears the wind, too, how it howls and cries and spurs the ocean on and on.

And there is singing in the night. As they near the end of October, the echoes of the songs grow stronger, restless. He has never heard that before. He feels it calling to him, making him feel more corporeal than he has in centuries. Why is that?

As the days go and pass him by, he grows restless too, feeling the voice inside his soul and what little shape he has here. Thin smoke, made darker, deeper, getting more defined with each setting sun.

* * *

She can hear the unearthly cries in the night, the sirens' song in the waxing moonlight, echoing over the water. It is silent, tonight, to better hear the mermaids' call.

She's strolling over the sand, moonlight in her hair, and the beach is deserted, at the time of night. It belongs to her, and to her alone.

The voice inside her is getting restless, begging her to release it, but she won't, she can't, how could she, when to do so would unleash another storm? She can't bear them, those powers inside, how much grief it would bring again.

She can't bear it.

She brings her mirror with her on those strolls. Not vanity, but a sense of comfort. The last thing her father gave her before he went to be joined with the sea and her cold embrace.

She gazes at it, sitting on a rock overlooking the ocean, black stone shining and reflecting the stars. When she has it with her, the call is not as strong, and she can almost push it away from her mind.

There's nothing special about it. Its silver handle is delicate, carefully forged, and there's only ever her reflection looking back to her, faithful image of her blonde hair, blue-grey eyes, pale skin. But there is grief shadowing her traits, despair and anger mixed and hardening her jaw.

Sometimes, she thinks there is something, gazing back, something that is not her, not quite there, but never fully gone. A shape, dark and looming. She has no fear of the supernatural, has lived in it, thrived on it for decades, but every time she looks, her magic shivers inside of her.

Despite all her knowledge on her powers, she's afraid of what it may reveal.

Every day she goes to stroll on the beach. Tonight, the siren's call in unbearable. It's only natural: it is October the 31st, and she's known the legends forever.

_Never go at night alone on the Siren's beach, especially not during all Hallow's eve. It is a dark, cursed place. The sirens will come and call you, and you won't be able to resist._

That is good for mere mortals, humans with no powers in their veins, no witch blood.

For her, it is the most soothing night of all. She doesn't have to hide who she is, how it feels to be so empty and so full at the same time, how the pain is an open wound, leaking all her joy and warmth.

It is cold, this wet sand in her hands, but it grounds her.

She feels their song wrapping around her, surrounding her with promises.

_Come and be who you are. Sing with us, unleash your song… Unleash your powers!_

The sea is playful at her feet, waves softly lapping her toes, almost begging her to surrender.

A shape in her mirror draws her eyes away from the ocean.

For once, she can see it clearly. A man with a white mask, blinding her with his light, but the rest of him is cloaked in darkness and shadows.

His silhouette grows more defined, his edges sharper, and his eyes are twin golden points of light.

Something about him feels familiar, a voice that is silent still but just on the edge of releasing everything.

The man is looking back at her, no words yet, but his eyes are holding the weight of the world.

"Who are you?" she demands, her magic awakening even more in his presence.

"You can see me?" He seems startled. "No one ever saw me before."

"I am a witch. I see beyond what mortals usually perceive. Who are you, and what are you doing in my mirror?"

"I am no one and nothing, and I have no idea how I came to be here. Just bad luck, I suppose."

His voice is unlike anything she's ever heard. Like her siren sisters', but deeper, softer, a promise begging to be held.

A whisper of magic, a tendril of hope.

Barely there, and yet, she feels it.

Closing her eyes, she knows what she has to do.

She will be the one to release him.

* * *

That first 31st of October, she fails. Magic doesn't respond well, after her years of being banished, and he stays stubbornly silent, not wishing to help.

He's used to being there, in the nothingness, and doesn't believe her about her powers.

Afterwards, though, when the sun rises on November 1st, his voice accompany her frustration, and she feels a part of her heart moved by his music. Brought back to the surface, in a way.

They begin talking.

And he sings for her.

Some days she can't even hear the sirens' song anymore, so powerful is his music. He explains what little he can about himself, his past, his pain. Having forgotten what life meant in a world not encased by silver and tin.

Most of the time, still, he listens, and his melody brings warmth on the cold beach.

Nights come and go, and she feels another longing in her heart. Winter comes, then spring, summer, then fall again, and soon October looms on their horizon. In the year she's known him, he's never spoken more than ten words at a time.

But his music has grown. At first only whispers, humming melodies she has only dreamt about, reaching deep into her core. The more he hums, the more she remembers. She doesn't want to, but she's never been strong enough to resist the music's power.

He grows confident, she swears, when his voice rings softly on her ears, echoing across the ocean's surface. This language she can't understand, but she knows the words are sweet and soft. And yet underneath is something else, deeper, stronger. Their meaning all but forgotten, but a part of her growing more proeminent every night is aching to remember.

* * *

On the next 31st, she tries again, draws all her powers to her in an effort to free him, but she fails. He seems to be resisting her wishes and trying.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks. "Why don't you want to be out of this?"

"There is nothing waiting for me on your side."

He doesn't speak again for a week, nor does he sing, and a few times she considers begging him for a song, pleading, tricking him, but she doesn't, letting the mirror in a drawer inside her home, feeling lonelier than ever.

She thinks about his words a lot. He's right, though. Why would she free him if it only means adding to his pain? She's too familiar with it not to get his meaning. And yet, her heart disagrees. When the sirens sing at sea, moonlight in their hair, the waves reflected in their eyes, she almost summons her powers to be with them. But she's afraid, and resists their call, again.

He's the one to break his self imposed silence. When she's back home in the morning, after another lonely, frustrating night, he whispers to her, his voice a lovely, delicate thing, nearly drown out in the harsh noise of the sea.

"Take me back with you, please."

_I don't want to be alone_.

And so she does.

* * *

After that, her days are lighter. He's an interesting companion, and when he wants to, has a fairly delightful tongue, whether to remark on something in his witty, abrasive way, or to sing again.

She must catch herself a few times to keep her voice inside her throat: he's a remarkable singer, and his song has an addictive quality she's never felt before, enticing her own to reach out and play.

She's never sure anymore why she keeps resisting his call.

"Don't you ever sing?" he asks her one warm lovely night.

"Not anymore. My voice is powerful, and bad things happen when I let it out. I've kept it hidden for many years because of that."

"I should like to hear you, when you're ready."

In time, with him, thanks to him…

There might be a reason to try again.

But she's not ready.

Not yet.

* * *

October comes back, and with it her yearly try. She can feel how thin the veil between the worlds is, this time around, but it's not enough. Her efforts are too frail for it to work.

This time, though, she can feel him beside her, and his disappointment matches her own.

It's interesting, unexpected even, how she notices sorrow in his eyes. For some reason, now he wants her to succeed. And while it was only a gut feeling, a wish to prove to herself, and to a world that has always pushed her, that she can do things, that she exists, she lives and breathes and her magic is powerful, and can do good, despite what happened before, this is now a link between them, made of music and this strange magic, and the foam and salt and the wind of the sea.

And she begins to want him, the man. Wants to know who he is, who he was, wants to feel his voice in her ears at night, and his arms around her, see his little smile when she's entranced by his music, nearly giving in, but never quite surrendering.

She's never known that feeling before.

And it's not unpleasant.

He looks at her, every day, watches her walk on the beach and resist her magic's call. He sings for her, drinks in her soft smiles and far away looks in her eyes. He would dream of her long hair and fair skin and tender hands if he could dream at all. But he never does, and wishes he could.

If only to be able to touch her, to have her writhing under his spell, his lovely words and passionate hands.

How he wishes he were there, beside her. Her latest failure, when he begins to desire he were there, is another dagger in his heart. He has none, of course, no beating heart, no fleshy hands, no real throat, but it aches nonetheless.

Ten years come and go, and still, nothing succeeds.

She's almost given up, on freeing him. She does it more out of habit now, pretending it doesn't sear her heart when he can't get out of that mirror.

* * *

Twelve years he's been trapped and living as her shadow, and she's almost accepted their fate. She has been wanting him, desiring him for the best part of a decade, now, and she knows he feels the same. There have been words exchanged, in the dead of night, when she thinks he can't hear her, and he thinks she's asleep. They never are, both too attuned to the other now to be fully disconnected from each other.

He's given up, she knows that, but she can't. She hardly knows why, when it would be so much easier to let go, and move on, but she's never been able to do that. Not with her father, with her magic, with him…

It is painful, how much she wants him with her, how she's now addicted to his music, the way he sings every morning to wake her up, how his melody brightens her walks along the sea shore. How she's never hearing the sirens' song anymore, because of him.

She could stay this way, she knows that.

But inside, deep in her core, a voice whispers and keeps the flame going.

_This is not how it ends._

And so she hopes, and she keeps trying.

* * *

Thirteen years now. The night falls, and she brings her mirror to her side, looking at him. She's never asked about his mask, never wanted to look past it, careful to make him at ease.

But if this is all that will ever be, all they're ever given, she has to know.

"What is beneath your mask?"

"My face. So distorted, deformed, it is hardly a face. I would never wish you to look upon it."

"I need to know, now," she whispers. "Please, Erik."

He's never told her his name. He had almost forgotten it, himself, but she knows it. And that, more than anything else, makes him fully aware of her powers, of who she is. And she has known him for thirteen years, never fearing him, never leaving him, and he realizes her truth.

She does have to know.

"Very well."

He takes it out quickly, not leaving himself a chance to back off of their deal.

She takes him in, slowly, gently, but her eyes are intense, passion and a fiery sort of acceptance. _This is love_, he understands finally.

No touches, nothing, just them two, just this, discussions and talks and music, and how he understands her, in the end, and how she sees him. Fully.

Erik. She knows his name. It has come to her lips as easily as breathing. As easily as her powers used to, in a long ago past. Magic is at work, tonight, she can feel it, goosebumps on her skin.

It is a radiant night, and she gazes back at him, looking at his face, the face of the man she has come to love, despite what separates them.

So much more unites them, now.

And this gives her strength to release her voice. Making him this greatest of gifts: her song.

Closing her eyes, she can not look at him, as she faces the sea, and reaches out into her core, where her magic has been waiting for so long, so impatiently.

And that night, the sea shimmers back to her, an ocean of silver and mist, pearls and sapphires glittering as bright as the stars they reflect.

She sings, strong and powerful, tears falling down her cheeks as soft golden drops. They, too, are sparkling.

For a moment, all around her is still, just listening to her, even the sea quieting to hear her most beloved Siren.

Her sisters are listening, too, their raven heads softly breaking the sea's surface.

When she stops, her throat sore from an hour and a half of uninterrupted music, and magic, nothing moves.

Except a dark figure, rising out of the black smoke of her mirror.

She lets it fall, letting the mirror shatter in a thousand pieces at her feet.

She can see him now, towering over her, his misshapen face a beautiful sight in the moonlight, his eyes glowing softly back to her, a tender, sweet smile on his lips.

"Christine," he whispers, her name ringing in the dark for the first time as a real, powerful sound.

He is real.

He is there.

He holds out his hand, and it is beautiful, long and fair and his fingers are soft and delicate, and he's wearing a beautiful, black ring.

She places her own hand in his, savoring his warmth, the smoothness of his skin.

He knows her name, when she has never told him, the way she knew his.

"I was right," she affirms, taking a step towards him. "I was the one to free you."

"Indeed you were."

They're just there, taking in the moment, enjoying this proximity, his hand in hers, and she takes another step. Then another, until she's right next to him. His heart is beating hard, and so is her own.

No more words are needed, but she has room for just a few more, the ones she's been waiting to whisper to an attentive, real and very scarred one.

"I've fallen in love with you."

He smiles again, the warmth and brightness of his smile taking her breath away.

"I love you," he sings back.

The spell is broken. The curse is gone.

But just to make sure, she reaches up and kisses him, her hands in his barely-there hair, his arms holding her against him.

He smells like the sea, like her magic back, like a song made scent, spicy and warm and exciting. His lips are soft, almost like a memory she's been trying to remember for a very, very long time.

But his body is real, and when they break out for breath, he holds her, and sings again, just for her, and she entwines her own song with his.

This time, the sea reaches to play at their feet, then back up in beautiful shapes, statues of running water, shining in the moonlight.

For this one moment, time has stopped.

And it only belongs to them, the Siren given her voice back, and the Ghost turned Man.

_The end._


End file.
